


break through the grey

by rainbowsmitten



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sibling Bonding, Teenage Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 07:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17862572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowsmitten/pseuds/rainbowsmitten
Summary: Allison and Klaus break the mould.





	break through the grey

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this tiny thing about allison and klaus being bros bc i just want these kids to be happy y'all

“Aren’t we a little old to be playing dress up?” Allison asks from her bed, watching Klaus twirl and pose in front of the mirror. A flowing maroon skirt and a black long-sleeved crop top, a pair of black John Lennon glasses and high heel combat boots. It’s probably the most co-ordinated thing he’s ever worn, so it’s no surprise that Allison put it together. She had worn it the other day and caught Klaus looking, raised her eyebrows at him and he had responded, “Was just thinking how good that would look on me.”

“Oh,” she said, bemused, “Better than me?”

“Only one way to find out,” he’d said like a challenge and mirrored her raised eyebrows. She didn’t even realise he was nervous until she’d responded with a grin and he’d relaxed, grinning back gratefully.

“Did we ever play dress up when we were kids?” Klaus counters, not looking away from his reflection. His poses are exaggerated and ridiculous, but the smile pulling at the sides of his mouth is genuine and pleased. Allison may be nervous that their father will burst in and drag them away, chastise them for messing about, but she can’t take this away from him. She’s not so cruel. “Did we ever play at all?”

He reaches over to grab some lipstick, looking over at Allison questioningly while his hand hovered, going for it once she shrugged and nodded the go-ahead.

“You want to go for that colour?” she asks, eyeing the bright red tube in his hand.

“What’s wrong with this colour?” he says, though he continues to twist it up and goes to apply it.

“It’s a little… tacky.”

Klaus laughs, abrupt and almost derisive, though Allison isn’t sure how much of the derision is aimed at her. “Have you met me?”

Allison tries to suppress a smile but can’t quite, conceding, “Okay, fair. You pull it off though.”

He snorts. “Of course I do. Tacky is my brand, Allison.”

Putting the lipstick back on Allison’s vanity, they both examine his work, a little messy but surprisingly well done. Allison figures he’s probably done this before, given that when they were twelve he paraded around in heels until he tripped on the stairs and that often he comes in late at night in smeared eyeliner and leather pants. This is not new to Klaus.

Sharing it with someone else though, that’s new, both to Klaus and her. Allison’s never had someone to do this with before; Vanya is kept separate from them and even if she wasn’t, she doesn’t wear makeup.

“You look good,” she says, coming up behind him to look at him closer, reaching out to straighten the shirt.

“I told you I would,” he says, cocky and grinning; Allison can’t see his eyes, shielded by the dark glasses, but even so the smile seems bright and genuine.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, affectionate and exasperated, “You want me to do your nails?”

His grin widens, which she didn’t even think was possible. “Thanks Allison.”

“Any time,” she responds and hopes that he takes her up on it.

  
  


“This is a bad idea,” Allison says, though she moves no move to stop Klaus, so it’s a pretty feeble protest.

“That’s kinda the point, Ally,” Klaus says, continuing to run the brush across her scalp. She’s impressed he’s managed to avoid making a mess; she had placed towels everywhere in preparation, but he’s doing a weirdly good job, perched on the side of the bathtub with Allison on the floor in between his legs, magazine open on the how-to article beside him. She wrinkles her nose at the smell of bleach and dye. “Besides, as far as teenage rebellion goes, dying your hair is pretty standard.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, trying to relax. “I’ve just never- done the whole teen rebellion thing before.”

“Hey, if dear old dad goes berserk, I’ll just do something scandalous to take the heat off you, okay?” Klaus says with a reassuring pat to her shoulder. Allison could never wrap her head around how easy it came to Klaus; from when they were children, he was always the one in trouble, the disappointment, the wild card, and he never seemed to care.

She rolled her eyes at him like everyone else, but she had always kind of envied him for it. She thinks the others might too; he had a weird sort of freedom that none of the rest of them did. A freedom that was not given to him, a freedom that he took for himself.

Allison wonders if he sees it that way.

At one point, there’s a knock on the bathroom door, declaring that dinner’s ready; the family always eats dinner together, awkward silence stifling and heavy in the air, one of their father’s rules and their father’s rules must always be obeyed.

But, in a strange silent agreement, they both stay very still and don’t respond.

“Mistress Allison, Master Klaus,” Pogo says through the door, exasperation clear in his tone, “I know that you are in there.”

They look at each other, holding their breath and their giggles in, like little kids, like if they couldn’t been seen or heard then Pogo would be tricked, a ridiculous teenage version of hide and seek. The consequences would come later, but at that moment, with the smell of chemicals in the air and Klaus shaking beside her trying to stifle his laughter and Pogo’s calm disapproval through the door, it felt worth it.

Later, she looks at herself in the mirror with a mix of anxiety and exhilaration, the two almost indistinguishable from the other. The blue is not the one advertised on the package, but it’s still bright and loud and rebellious. It’s still what she wanted.

“Looks good,” Klaus says from the bath where he’s lounging, joint hanging from his mouth and his hands stained dark blue.

“Yeah?” she replies, “You think it’s my colour. Maybe I shoulda gone with purple or something.”

“Pfft, every colour is your colour, Allison,” Klaus says, flippant and strangely sweet.

“Thanks Klaus,” she says softly.

He grins, lopsided, and waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it.”

She doesn’t, but she doesn’t forget it either.


End file.
